


Trying to Burn the Night Away

by yachterotter



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drinking, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Oliver and Felicity meet before the island, One Night Stands, Pre-island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yachterotter/pseuds/yachterotter
Summary: Reeling from her boyfriend's death, Felicity decides to escape her reality: to let the blasting noise of the speakers fill her ears, to get lost in the kaleidoscope of lights, to let the power of liquor take over as it runs through her veins. In her journey to escape her reality, after a drink (or five), she finds that one person she least expected to to change her life.Two years later, in the verge of the losing her newfound happiness, she finds that the life she left behind might just help her save the life she found anew.





	Trying to Burn the Night Away

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! It's time for a little departure from my comfort zone. Through the years, I've been accustomed to writing fluffy one-shots, so writing something with a bit more angst is something new and exciting. 
> 
> This chapter should be able to stand as a piece on its own, but it leaves plenty of details up in the air. I’d really like to hear your thoughts about this, so please leave a comment if you want more out of this story. 
> 
> My goal is to update this every weekend. 
> 
> Lastly, I know that the whole meeting-before-the-Gambit trope has been done several times before (as well as the whole one-night stand thing), but I’ve always wanted to write my take on it, so here we are. The title is from Bastille's Quarter Past Midnight.
> 
> As always, no beta, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**Day 1.**  
  
She remembers the rush.  
  
The mix of loud noises going through her head.  
  
She doesn't even make out the lyrics to the music blasting through the speakers anymore. She recalls red, pink, purple, blue, green. Different colored lights all around her. This party must be sponsored by some rich kid because there’s no way anyone can afford those lights at a house party.

They feel like noises, too.  
  
He was there. Standing with his group of frat boys. She remembers seeing him chugging keg earlier, his band of merriment chanting all around.

It was all clichéd. All typical.

Everything she hated.

He was trashy, but he was exactly the kind of trash she was looking for tonight.  
  
She remembers feeling that liquid courage she mustered from the five shots of tequila she just downed. ‘One-two-three!’ she chanted with her newfound friends as they formed a circle at some part of the dance floor.  
  
She remembers walking up to him to tell him to shut his beautiful face because ‘why is life unfair?’ ‘how could anyone be gifted with such a perfect face?’  
  
She recalls not caring if she had just embarrassed herself like she normally would. She always had no control of the words that just came out of her mouth.  
  
After all, this was who she is now.

The new and improved Felicity Smoak. Goodbye, goth hacker!  
  
Her memory tells her that he chuckled because, of course, she said that out loud. He asked her if she wanted to get out of there. She said yes almost instantly.  
  
Fifty six minutes later, he’s peeling of her red mini dress in what she thinks is his bedroom. He's shirtless now -- something that was definitely her fault because damn, he has a six pack. She runs her hands through his thresses, gripping his blond locks, muttering, ‘you'd probably look more handsome without the serial killer hair’ as she welcomes his tongue in her mouth.  
  
She feels his hands on her bare breasts and she moans in response, not noticing that they were moving as she feels the edge of his bed on the back of her knees. She allows herself to fall, and a second later she’s underneath him. On his bed, naked, her hair fanned around her face.  
  
She feels his arms around her back as she positions her more comfortably, joining her in nakedness as she tugs off his pants and his boxers, freeing him.

She remembers his laugh, but she doesn’t remember what she just said just then. Although, it must be something she should be embarrassed about.  
  
Soon enough, she feels his arms around her thighs, his tongue around her entrance, his fingers around her sensitive nub, because, of course, he'd be well-versed with this.  
  
Seconds after she comes down from the high he put her on, she remembers the sound of a condom packet being ripped, the feel of him inside of her, stretching her, filling her, making her forget and forget and forget. Making her scream his name over and over again as he brought her to completion.  
  
*  
  
**Day 570.**  
  
‘They called off the search hours ago. He’s gone, Felicity.’  
  
She hears Tommy’s talk and but her mind just couldn’t register what he said as actual sentences. In fact, her brain just tells her that they’re just a bunch of words stringed together to form some sort of incoherent noises and that it can’t be and it’s not real.

Her world can’t end today. Not yet.  
  
She remembers feeling the ground move from under her feet. The feel of her lungs begging her to get more air because it’s all gone. The view of that darkness creeping around her vision that just keeps growing and growing.  
  
She vaguely recalls the feel of someone else's arms trying to catch her, and she holds on for support but the ground still swallows her whole.  
  
Honestly, the ground is more than welcome to swallow her entirety. She doesn’t care.  
  
Maybe, she’ll even get to see him there.  
  
Seconds later, she feels as if she’s being lifted in the air, only to come back down to feel the soft caress of the mattress she shared with him.

And the smell. His smell is enough to break her.

She allows herself to cry.

She cries. As loud as she can. Louder than she can remember. Louder as she exhausts herself and all she can muster are quick and shallow gasps.  
  
As the windows welcomed in the fading light from the skies, she’s staring at their ceiling, unmoving.  
  
*  
  
**Day 2.**  
  
The realization of what she did crept in as the windows welcomed in the new light and she’s staring at his ceiling, unmoving.  
  
Is this the life she wanted to have after Cooper?  
  
If you'd tell her two weeks ago that she'd be lying in a trust fund boy's bed after a one night stand, she'd ask you if you had too much of the good stuff. After all, this was the exact life she spent years of her life mocking and despising.  
  
The life she watched her mother live. The life she swore she was never going to have.  
  
All she ever wanted was to have a night away to escape her current reality.  
  
She’s surprised her tear ducts haven’t dried out, yet. She tells herself that she shouldn’t feel grief. Grief is for people who lose someone and there wasn't anything they could do to stop it from happening. Like that time she lost her dog, Lucky, to kidney failure when she was twelve. Grief is for the people who deserve to mourn.  
  
It was regret.  
  
It was blaming herself for creating that stupid code and sharing it to him. Regret for not making him feel supported enough when the NSA got hold of what he did and locked him up. Regret for not making him feel that she can get him out so he didn’t have to get out of this life on his own way. Regret for not making him feel that they can have a life together after this.  
  
Wherever in heaven or hell he might be, he’s surely going to hate her for this.  
  
For one night, she wanted to feel numb. To feel something else other than the regret that's gnawing through her insides and swallowing her whole.  
  
True enough, lying in Oliver Queen’s bed, she feels like she has accomplished that goal. With full marks, straight As, flying colors.  
  
Strangely, she knows she should be this comfortable with him.  
  
She should have left hours ago. Yet, she finds herself drawn to the comfort of his arms. They were warm. They felt strong. She finds herself drawn to his scent. Strangely, underneath the smell of beer in his breath, the smell of sweat on his skin, he smelled like home. Like that scent that envelopes you when you haven’t been home for a while and it hits you right when you open the door. The smell of the outside when her father would take them to the cabin when she was young.  
  
And his eyes? She remembers the feel of his eyes on her the entire night. The warmest blue she has ever seen. She remembers the feeling of being revered. The feeling of being cared for. The feeling that maybe she could find the solution to end her agony just by getting lost in those specks.  
  
Nothing about this should be right. If her calculations were correct, she’s sure he’s done this for more than a hundred times. She’s sure he uses those eyes to lure all the women he wants to bed. She’s sure those arms felt as strong to that woman he was probably with the other night.  
  
Soon enough, she felt him shift through the covers, and she takes it as her cue to get up and leave, not wanting to make the situation more awkward than it is because it’s not like she’s ever had a one-night stand before.  
  
The night has faded. Her liquid courage has run out.

She’s surprised at her own agility as she gets out of bed, gets dressed, and goes for the door.  
  
As she finds herself in the reflection of the mirror greeting her as she enters her room, she ponders if she’s ever going to be comfortable with the person staring back at her. In long blonde messy locks and a short tight dress, five inch heels in hand. In faded red lipstick and smudged mascara.Is this really what she really wanted?  
  
*  
  
**Day 572.**  
  
The feel of his scruff grounds her.  
  
Wherever they may be.  
  
In mornings, he wakes her with the feel of his scruff on her neck, on her cheeks, all over her skin.  
  
Sometimes, it's during those little interludes they have. She feels his scruff on her palm, under the pads of her thumbs, as she cradles his beautiful face in her hands.  
  
Some of her favorite times even include the feel of his scruff on her most intimate parts.  
  
And how can she not mention the feel of his scruff when on her face? Around her lips, her cheeks. At times, she feels them under her lips.  
  
But her most favorite? The feel of his scruff on her neck. The feel of his scruff that tells her he’s there, alive, alright, with her. The feel of his scruff accompanied by relief, safety, contentment.

She counts the days, yet the numbers blur as the colors shift outside their window. She lets time slip as she fills her days with mundane tasks that keep her mind busier than it usually is.

After all, her finals are coming up and she needs to study.  
  
She refuses to accept that this is her reality. Her constant. Her forever.  
  
He was her reality. He was her constant. Her forever.  
  
How dare he leave her alone?  
  
They had so many plans in life.  
  
They were both on their last year of college. He was graduating with a bachelor’s degree in business from Harvard University. She was graduating with a bachelor’s degree in computer sciences from MIT. Just a few months ago, he surprised her by taking a few classes in political sciences. Something that she has been encouraging him to do because he’s had his heart set in politics.

They were supposed to be going on a trip to celebrate.

He’s not particularly sneaky around her when it comes to technology, so it didn’t surprise her when his search bar auto populated, ‘best resorts in Aruba.’

She has always wanted to go there.  
  
This time, in some other parallel universe where he had gotten home safe yesterday, they’re probably already mapping the places they were visiting. She almost loses it as she remembers how excited he was over the phone just days ago.  
  
He was going to learn how to cook for her. She’s terrible at it, so he decided to take one for the team, he’d always say to tease her. After all, she’s going to need more nutrition than the junk she had always fed herself with.

He remembers how he told her about his childhood. That he’s always been fascinated by Raisa when he watches her in the kitchen. One time, he whipped up Monte Cristos for her and used waffles instead of bread because that’s how he’d always liked it when he was young.

She wonders how she’s going to spend the rest of her life like this. She wonders if she’s ever going to be happy again.  
  
*  
  
**Day 7.**  
  
She finds herself in another party again five days after.

She should be disappointed at herself. After all, the morning after the last was filled with doubt, regret, and aspirin. It was just the right formula of what a morning after experience should be, and just the right amount that should tell her to stop and quit and rethink everything.

For some reason, she can’t bring herself to stop thinking about him.

It started with glimpses of his touch when she’s alone at night and her mind is vacant. Somehow she remembers the feel of his touch and how her skin screams, ‘more, more, I want more of it,’ like a child begging for more ice cream.

She remembers the look in his eyes and how she wanted to drown herself in them again.

God, she’s in so much trouble. This is exactly how he wants her to feel.

True to his reputation, she finds him there.  
  
This time, as their eyes meet, she’s surprised that he responds with recognition.

Willing to wash down the reasonable, shy, and smarter-than-this Felicity Smoak who should be finding the nearest escape route, she downs her fourth or fifth shot of Cuervo.

Reasonable, shy, and smarter-than-this Felicity Smoak would tell her to let one-night stands be.  
  
‘I listened to your advice.’

She’s startled at his voice and his words because if he’s being true to what she’s read and heard about him, she’s not supposed to remember that.

‘I booked my stylist for tomorrow.’

She stifles a laugh because of course, rich kids have stylists and not friendly neighborhood barbers.

Then again, she’s supposed to be seductive, not giggly, because, new persona, remember?

‘Can’t wait to see how it looks like.’

She wonders if she still comes across as the seductress she wants to portray.  
  
Then again, she probably did because of the next few words he whispers on her ear.

‘How about we take this one for one last spin.’  
  
Thirty seven minutes later, she finds herself on top of him, gripping his long blond locks once more, panting his name as she bounces on top of him over and over.

She tunes out the rest of the world and somehow, all that’s left is him and her and the pleasure they bring each other, the noises they make.

In the morning, she’ll be jaded.

For now, she doesn’t care.  
  
*  
  
**Day 575.**  
  
Two years ago, her attempts to overcome her grief of losing Cooper prompted her to create a new persona.  
  
She remembers the feeling of faux freedom while she applied the rancid smell of hydrogen peroxide in her hair. She remembers how uncomfortable five inch heels felt as they trap her feet and make her lose her balance when she walked.  
  
She remembers looking at the mirror and realizing that she resembled her mother after all.

She remembers, but she doesn’t regret any of them.  
  
After all, that led her to meet the most important person in her life right now.

She wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
She’s more comfortable in her skin now. Yes, she still dyes her hair blonde every now and then, and sometimes, it’s a hassle that she wishes it would just grow blonde naturally. Yes, her feet still hurt after spending hours in heels, but she wouldn’t trade it for the confidence she felt while wearing them.  
  
She now finds beauty in bright colors and pastels. She now finds comfort in the confidence she feels whenever she puts on her power dresses.  
  
After all, she’s going to start her own company one day and you know what they say -- you should dress for the job you want.  
  
These days, she finds comfort in wearing his super sized shirts.  
  
His scent wrapped around her is the closest thing she has to having him with her.  
  
These days, she’s battling grief by burying herself in the life she swore she was never going back to again. The life she turned away from the night she met Oliver.

These days, she’s hacking every single government database around the South China Sea to find him. To find reports of the remains of the boat. To find reports of any lifeboats floating around the area.

She’s hacked radio frequencies and satellites and everything she could do to find him.

She doesn’t care if she gets in trouble for this. She doesn’t care if she’s slipping back to her old life.

She wants her Oliver back.

According to her research, there were thousands of islands around the area where the Gambit sank. She’s only barely the optimistic kind, but she would never shy away from any glimmer of hope she could use to get him back.

She knows him. She knows him enough that he’ll fight his way home. She knows he’s a strong person. Inside and out. She knows he’s not going to give up that easily.

So will she.

She’s down to her last iota of wakefulness when she hears the beep of from her speakers.

A radio frequency from one of the islands near the site.

Lian Yu.  
  
She scribbles the name down in haste, blindly reaches for her phone and calls the number she’s somehow gotten used to dialing for the past twelve months.  
  
This might be their only chance.

She hears his voice, riddled with sleep.

'Tommy, I found something.'  
  
*  
  
**Day 8.**  
  
In daylight, when she’s supposed to be sober enough to regret what she’s done, she wonders why she couldn't just leave right after.  
  
She feels him snake his strong arms around her middle. She hates herself for having to resist the urge to lean back and cuddle with him.

After all, she’s already gone too down far this rabbit-hole. If she gets in deeper, she might never find a way out.

She knows there are consequences to her actions.  
  
Having been well-acquainted with the use of the internet for so much more than posting selfies and watching cat videos, she decides that she should know more about this man than she’s supposed to.

Taking out her Sidekick, she does a quick search on him.  
  
Oliver Queen. The heir of Queen Consolidated, a Fortune 500 company based in Starling City. He’s a trust fund baby, in his third attempt to get a business degree.

After all, much like the monarchs of days past, he is going to inherit the company.  
  
He was the exact opposite of Cooper, exactly the kind of person they despised, mocked, and frowned upon. The kind of people who had their lives handed to them in a silver platter.

The kind of people who had enough money in the world to waste.

From what she’s seen from him, he’s exactly what the world expects him to be.

Yet, he’s different with her. Their one night stands don’t make much room for talk, yet, he’s always made her feel special. He’d always prioritize her needs before his, much to her surprise.  
  
Somehow, he was a flickering flame and as much as she would hate to admit it, she was a moth in lured into his heat.  
  
She knows his reputation with women.

A quick Google search will show you pictures of him leaving nightclubs with different women on his arm. He’s on the same level as the Hiltons and the Ritchies, and the somehow the world’s always watching out for what he does next.

There’s something else, though.

She’s had her doubts, but according to one his profiles, she had a girlfriend back home. A childhood friend. ‘She’s gorgeous,’ she tells herself as she went through their pictures.

Somehow, that hits her.

He’s with someone. He’s cheating on that someone with her.  
  
She hates herself for not realizing this soon enough because she’s supposed to be smarter than this.  
  
She realizes that this probably makes her a homewrecker. A complicit to this man's infidelity.  
  
Is this really what she wanted?  
  
*  
  
**Day 577.**  
  
She’s stunned at the strength that she has mustered to face this day.

They were going to bury their empty caskets. Oliver’s and his father’s.

Moira arranged for her flight to Starling. She had a rocky start with her boyfriend’s mother, but they were way past the unpleasantries and have graduated to a more civil and respectful relationship.

After that holiday three months ago, she’s grown to respect her, too.

She doesn’t tell her about what she found. She knows Moira. She knows that she’s probably already hired a group of highly skilled investigators to find her son and her husband, too.

She stayed at the mansion the night before the funeral.

It feels more hollow than how it already was.

She remembers the look in Moira’s face, finding the grief that mirrored her own. She remembers young Thea, Oliver’s little sister, whom she spent last holiday playing with, telling her that her mother wouldn’t leave the room, begging her to stay after the funeral.

Seeing their facts, she’s more determined than ever to find him.

‘Hang in there Oliver, we’re going to bring you home.’

*  
  
**Day 18.**  
  
The third time she attends another party was ten days after the last one.  
  
She feels like she’s earned this. Despite promising herself that she’s going to live a brand new life, she still has to work her ass off to keep her scholarship until she graduates. Meeting deadlines, spending most of her time buried in code, and finally finishing the program that she designed all on her own for her thesis.  
  
She’s only on her second drink tonight and she wonders if she’s prepared enough for this. For him. For the persona she adapts whenever she’s out trying to forget the grief she has to face when she’s living her reality.  
  
She spots him with his usual crowd, another handsome trust fund baby with dark hair and brown eyes by his side. She often hears him call him, ‘Tommy.’ Of course, being only one of his many one night -- or two nights -- stands, she knows she hasn't earned that ‘getting introduced to his friends’ status.  
  
He’s sporting his brand new hair. The one that she encouraged him to do and she’s flooded with pride. The kind that makes her want to shout, 'I made him do that,' to everyone.  
  
Frankly, she never thought she'd have that kind of influence on him.  
  
She’s not wrong. He does look better with it.  
  
Not too long after, she finds his eyes meet hers and she’s unsure about what she’s going to do.  
  
She did leave him abruptly the last time. Gently snaking herself out of his grasp. Tiptoeing across the room, careful not to break his slumber. Then again, she’s never done second-night stands so wasn't aware of the proper decorum for it.  
  
He finds his shadow coming closer and is surprised as his towering height appears in her near sight.  
  
'I knew I'd find you here,' she hears that deep and serious voice, strong yet somehow softer than how he usually hears him conversing with the rest of his peers.  
  
She debates internally whether she would reply with something snarky or something seductive.  
  
'Why? Because this is where you usually find most of the girls you take home for the night?'  
  
There. She thanks her brain for finding that middle-ground she constantly tries to seek but never finds.  
  
‘No. I--,’ she hears him clear his throat, as if trying to find his footing, again. ‘Honestly, I just hoped you be here.’  
  
She notices the slight change in his tone. Gone is that man who speaks so cockily and proud. Here, now, is a man who is suddenly unsure of what to say next.  
  
Good. At least, they’re on equal ground now.  
  
‘I guess you weren’t lying when you said you took my advice,’ she’s surprised as she finds herself leading the conversation.  
  
She has never been this courageous without the rush of liquor running through her veins.

‘What made you think I’d lie to you, Felicity?’

She scoffs at that, because, how dare he?  
  
‘Where's your girlfriend?’  
  
She decides to go for the jugular. To cut it straight open and let the blood flow until there’s nothing left with this unspoken arrangement they seem to have fallen into.  
  
‘I don't have one.’  
  
If there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s men lying through their teeth to get what they want.  
  
‘Listen, it was a fun ride and I want to say thank you. You were amazing and I had a great time and all, but I’m not going to be someone's side piece.’  
  
She turns away as she tries to take a sip of her drink. She’s forgotten that she emptied it three minutes ago when he was making his way to her.  
  
‘We’re no longer together.’  
  
She hears his voice and smells his unique scent and soon enough she figures her quick pause has earned him enough time to catch up on her while she was making her exit.  
  
‘If you could give me time to explain. Please.’  
  
The desperation in his voice catches as her attention as she doesn't think twice, surprising herself as she hears the next two words coming from her mouth.  
  
‘Coffee, then?’

She feels her heat flutter as he nods and smiles that charming smile of his.

Oh God, she’s way too deep into this now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this and again, let me know what you think and if you want to read more from this story!


End file.
